


There's A First Time For Everything

by risingtides



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risingtides/pseuds/risingtides
Summary: "I just wanna congratulate you properly, if that's okay."





	There's A First Time For Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this but I'm also, like, totally not sorry. I had to do it.

Carter is used to publicity, but never something like _this._

Since getting called up to the Flyers, it had been nonstop press for the past 48 hours leading up to the game. After the game, his first NHL win, it felt like there were even more cameras in his face, more interviews, more questions. He would by lying if he said he didn’t love the attention. All his hard work led to him finally achieving his dream of being in the NHL. Even if it didn’t last long this season, he would be back, and that was just so relieving to him. He had cracked the surface of what would hopefully be a long, successful career.

The press finally leave the locker room after interrogating Carter for what seemed like decades, allowing him to finally get showered and changed so that he could get out to see his parents, who he still hadn’t gotten the chance to greet after the game.

He’s stripping to get in the shower when he feels a strong hand on his bare shoulder. He looks behind him and sees Giroux standing there wearing a gentle smile. Carter smiles back, heart in his throat because he still gets nervous around the team, even though they have welcomed him with open arms and, shit, he’s coming off his first NHL win, he should be flying high. Yet, he’s still got this feeling that he must earn his stripes with them, so he’s still anxious and even more so around Claude.

He notices this weird glint in the Captain, _his_ Captain’s eyes.

“Congratulations, kid, we’re proud of you,” he squeezes his shoulder, massaging it almost, fingers digging into his pale skin. Carter gasps quietly, enjoying the sensation; he didn’t realize how much tension had built up in his traps. Guess that’s what happens before your first NHL game ever.

“Thanks, Claude, it means a lot,” Carter replies quietly, Claude’s hand still lingering on his shoulder. That’s when the captain takes a step closer to him and he feels his heart practically crawl into his mouth, ready to come up because they’re basically breathing the same air at this point and, maybe he’s just reading too much into this, but he’s never had a teammate get this close, at least not like this, not with that some look Giroux is wearing like he’s after something, hungry for something.

It’s kind of hot.

He glances around the locker room where some guys were still getting changed and gathering their things, but no one seems to be paying any attention to the two of them. Carter looks back Giroux, hand still on his shoulder, a bit closer to his neck now, thumb grazing over the delicate skin there. The young goalie can’t help but lean into the touch, grabbing the jutting walls of his own stall to steady himself. Giroux takes that as an invitation to step ever closer and Carter feels his dick twitch with interest.

Giroux moves so his lips are now by Carter’s ear, breath hot against his neck and Carter is loving every minute of it but _shit_ some guys are still in here and _why_ isn’t he pushing Giroux away and _how_ did he know that Carter would play into his hands like puddy because, well, it’s Claude Giroux and he’s gorgeous and a fucking star at hockey and Carter is just finding his bearings in professional hockey and the NHL.

“I just wanna congratulate you properly, if that’s okay,” Giroux breathes, hand dropping below the waist to palm Carter – who is already half hard – through his compressions and suddenly the goalie can’t think and he’s nodding without really knowing what he’s agreeing to as Giroux continues with the circular motions.

This must not be the first time, because the moment Giroux starts toying with Carter, everyone seems to file out of the locker room with their few belongings, the rest left behind for equipment to retrieve. Simmonds is the last one out of the locker room and Carter swears he sees him glance back and lock the double doors behind him, like he knows what is about to happen.

Once the room has emptied, Giroux presses a hungry kiss to Carter’s neck, earning a moan, throwing his head back to give the captain more access. He gains the courage to let his hands drop to Claude’s waist, resting them there while the captain’s lips move to kiss along his shoulder, biting the skin there, leaving a mark no one else would see.

“Claude, please,” the goalie moans, dick hardening beneath his teammate’s touch.

“Please what?” Claude teases, moving his mouth again, this time to tug on his earlobe, Carter’s hands moving to cradle either side of his neck.

“Off, off, take them off,” he pleads, pulling Giroux’s face back so he can look at him before pressing a kiss to his lips, Claude slipping his tongue past his teeth while he slips a hand into Carter’s pants, stroking him a few times before finally saying good riddance to the clothing. He pulls away to pull down his pants, dropping to the floor with them as his cock was finally free, cherry red and curling up towards his stomach. He blushes, feeling quite exposed, though the feeling is replaced with pleasure as Claude takes Carter into his mouth, working and tonguing the slit before taking him deeper, causing Carter to make the most egregious sounds, muffling them with his own arm.

“Fuck, Claude, so good,” he moans, squirming under the sensation of his mouth, still holding on for dear life to his stall walls. Everything is heightened by the sheer fact that it’s Giroux doing all of this, sucking him off, caring for him, making him feel wanted. What a sight: The Flyers captain with Carter’s dick in his mouth.

Claude takes him deeper, humming around his cock as he lets Carter hit the back of his throat, holding it there before pulling back, using a hand to stroke the lower half while he works the tip, looking up at his young goalie, using his thighs as leverage while they shake beneath his fingertips. With the sounds he’s making, he knows he’s about to cum so he pulls off with a ‘pop’, standing up to give him a sloppy kiss, mixed with spit and Carter’s own precum.

The goalie curses when Giroux comes off, grinning wildly before they tangle their tongues together again. Claude has wrapped his arms around Carter’s slim body, pressing the two of them together. Carter pulls away, about to speak, but grows shy, looking away from Claude’s steady gaze. He wants to ask for something but isn’t sure how.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, sounding so concerned Carter’s heart swells again but instead he presses his lips together, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants.

“I just…”

“If you want to stop, we can, I’m sorry, don’t think you _have_ to do this-”

“No!” Carter interjects before reeling back again, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He didn’t mean to seem so eager, “I just, I don’t know how to phrase this…”

Claude smiles gently, relieved, tracing circles into the boy’s back as he talks to try and soothe him, “Just tell me what you want, babe, it’s okay,” he moves a hand to tilt his head back towards him, wanting Carter to look at him, to feel as confident as he did right here as he did on the ice just moments ago, “Whatever you want.”

The young goalie feels reassured by Claude’s kindness, smiling shyly when he’s redirected to his gaze, “Would you, um,” he pauses, unable to shake his embarrassment, “Fuck me?”, his cheeks even darker now.

Claude’s breath catches in his throat, swallowing hard before nodding, grinning at the boy, “Fuck, of course, Carter.”

He presses a kiss to his mouth and Carter is still melting from hearing Claude say his name like that, so needy and pleased. The captain grabs him by the waist to get him to lower to the floor, Carter obliging.

He also obliges when Giroux tells him to turn around so that he’s kneeling into his stall, elbows propped up on the wood with his knees spread apart and, God, he feels so filthy, leaving himself open to the Flyers locker room for his Captain to take him but the adrenaline running through his veins diminishes any of those usual feelings.

Carter turns to look behind him and Giroux has got two fingers in his own mouth. The boy bites his bottom lip, anticipation growing in his stomach, turning back around to stare at the wall in front of him. He feels one finger, then two stretch him open and he moans, earning a quiet chuckle out of the other man. Carter tries to fuck himself back onto his Captain’s fingers but he doesn’t get very far when Giroux withdraws, causing him to whimper.

“Be good, babe, you’ll get there.” Giroux assures him, leaning down to press kisses to his back as he puts his fingers back in, adding a third once he feels the boy is stretched enough and Carter is moaning all over again, head now resting on the bench of the stall. Claude keeps punching that same spot inside of him and he’s _sure_ he’s going to cum right there if he doesn’t stop…

Then he does and Carter is stuck near the brink of orgasm once again.

“Claude, please, you’re killing me here,” he breathes, voice thick with lust. A strong hand on his back keeps him in place so he’ll stop checking behind him and he huffs. He hears two packets being opened and the slicking up of his cock before it’s being pressed into him. He pushes slowly and Carter lets out the load groan that’s been building up inside him, face still pressed into the wood as Giroux fucks into him slowly, his own body shifting around his cock, wriggling his hips a bit to help the cause before the captain steadies him, hands on his hips as he rocks the goalie back and forth on his cock.

“So good, Carter, you’re a fucking star.” Giroux murmurs to him in between kisses on his back, both hands now on his waist as he fucks him, picking up the pace and Carter is going ballistic, letting out the most outrageous sounds and not caring who would hear. He can’t remember the last time he’d been fucked, let alone this good.

“I’m close, G, _fuck_ ,” And that’s when Claude wraps an arm around the front of his chest and positions him up-right so their torsos are pressed together, his back against Claude, him fucking up into Carter. He throws his head back, so it rests on his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut, obscene sounds leaving his mouth that bring Giroux near the edge.

All of it is just so much; Carter feels like every sense is heightened with each thrust into his prostate, fingers curling around Giroux’s red locks to try and find some steadiness, his breath hot and heavy as he turns his face in towards the captain’s neck. He watches his face change with each thrust, the perfect ‘O’ his mouth is forming in-between praises, all because of _him_.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Giroux breathes into his ear, fucking up into him with hard, quick strokes, earning high, overwhelmed sounds out of the boy. He wraps a hand around to jerk him off and Carter thinks he’s going to explode, his nerves on fire, head dizzy with pleasure and after a quick few strokes Carter is spilling into his fist, quaking in Giroux’s arms, holding on to the back of his neck to steady himself as he rides out the orgasm.

Claude follows not too long after that, his thrusts growing shaky just before he comes, groaning into Carter’s ear and it makes the younger boy moan again, who is still leaking into Claude’s hand as his dick softens. He’s still seeing stars when Giroux pulls out of him, tying the condom off and tossing it, Carter places a hand on his stall for support, still trying to steady his own breathing when Claude wraps an arm around him from behind again, spinning him around so they’re facing each other.

Claude’s got sweat on his forehead and his cheeks are flushed the same as Carter, but he’s still licking Carter’s cum off his hand which makes the boy laugh. “You’re obscene, you know that?” he jokes, rolling his eyes, confidence settled back into his bones.

“You call that obscene? _This_ is obscene,” and Giroux proceeds to practically deep throat his own cum-covered fingers and Carter nearly chokes, eyebrows practically hitting the ceiling until he finally shows some mercy and stops, seeing the alarmed look on his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he adds with an eye roll, using the towel he was going to shower with to wipe the little bit of cum off his stomach, deciding he really had no time before his parents would start to wonder what he was up to. He pauses. “Claude?”

“Hm?” he answers from a few stalls down, looking up.

“Do you,” he pauses again, trying to word this right, “Do you always do this? With…”

“With rookies, you mean?” Claude interjects, laughing as he shakes his head, “No, not always. Just the special ones.”

If it was possible for Carter to blush even more, he definitely was now.

“Thank you, you know, for uh, congratulating me, I guess.” Carter goes on as he buttons up his shirt, fingers still shaking.

Claude grins. “Anytime, kid.” And he exits the locker room, leaving Carter alone.

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut tight a few times, just to make sure that he hadn’t been dreaming.

-

When reporters get a hand on him again outside of the locker room, after he’s talked to his parents and taken all the pictures he possibly can take in one evening, he’s asked:

“What did your teammates bring to you tonight?”

Carter smiles modestly, shrugging; the answer was obvious.

“Confidence.”

He sees Giroux standing beyond the crowd of reporters and their eyes connect, just for a second, long enough for him to pause while he tries to refocus, thinking of the right words to describe such a magical night.


End file.
